


It's just the hardest thing to love you but not know how

by KeepGoing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Insecurities, M/M, Married Life, Mickey POV, Slow Sex, ian likes to slow things down sometimes, mickey is still insecure, sex and feelings, so many feelings, that causes mickeys mind to wander
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:53:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23641150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: Mickey still gets insecure sometimes. And when things slow down, and his mind won't shut down, he can't stop himself from saying things when it just becomes too much.He's inside you, and you don't mean physically. You're suffocating and you feel like you're burning, there's so much pain and pleasure and you try to gasp for breath and suddenly he pulls back and looks at you with those eyes.“Mick, what?”“I…” You're drowning. Gasping. He...You...
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 24
Kudos: 303





	It's just the hardest thing to love you but not know how

**Author's Note:**

> Its my head canon that no matter how much Mickey and Ian have grown and gotten through their past, Mickey will sometimes still feel insecure and scared that Ian could leave again. This is just a little insight into Mickey's headspace during an intimate moment between him and Ian. 
> 
> As always, comments are LOVE.
> 
> God, I love these idiots.

_You steal my heart and you take my breath away  
Would you take me in, take me deeper now  
And how can I stand here with you and not be moved by you?_

His fingertips feel like hot coals on your skin. He’s tracing the newly formed freckles that form every season when the sun decides to come out and never go away. Dots on your skin that he becomes obsessed with once the temperature rises above 75. He gets like this sometimes. Where every touch has to be softer than the one before it. When his lips just ghost over those freckles and the scars you've been carrying around with you since you were 7 years old. He seems to always find a new one to ask about; as if he hasn't seen every one of them at some point in the decade you two have been naked with each other. 

He tells you he likes to slow down once in a while. When his mania flares up to the point he starts to notice it before you even can, and doing this, just touching you so gently it makes you want to run like old habits, helps him to make the world and his mind just stop for a while. You let him do it, because you’d fucking do anything he asked you to do. No matter how long you two have been together; no matter how much you love and trust the man next to you, him touching you with such gentleness, such love; it will always rip you apart in ways that still make you feel uncomfortable in your own skin.

You know who you are now. You’re not proud so to speak; that’s something you never really understood with the whole gay liberation bullshit. Proud of what exactly? You being gay isn’t any different than you being Ukrainian. Or from Chicago. Or liking olives on your pizza. It's just who you are. And maybe it took you awhile to admit it, to accept it and own it, but it doesn't make you proud. That just doesn’t make any fucking sense. 

So you're not sure why when he presses his lips to the side of your neck and runs his hand achingly slow down the side of your face and grazes your arm until he reaches your hand and squeezes it, you feel like you're drowning and you can't quite catch your breath. 

You don't know why you have to squeeze your eyes shut so the wetness that you can't seem to subdue doesn't come spilling out. He can tell it’s too much and that's when he pulls you closer to him and presses his forehead against yours and whispers things against your open mouth. Words that fill up your veins and then shatter into a million pieces causing your skin to peel off until all that's left is him on top of broken bones. 

You love him. Fuck, you love him. You used to think love was bullshit. That in your world it didn't exist. And you aren't even sure love isn't bullshit. And maybe what you feel for Ian, isn't love. You feel like the word isn't even enough sometimes. You both say it to each other, more and more than you ever did. Because you both can't think of a heavier word. You've tried. And you've said things to him in the darkness of this bedroom, when he's curled against you and his breathing is even and you know he's just on the cusp of falling into sleep. You tell him things like how grateful you are that he found you. That he saved you more than you ever saved him. That he surrounds you not just in a physical way. That you know you'd die without him. 

But those words fall short in the every day of life. When work becomes unbearable. When words spit like fire and fists fly in anger. You always say love after, because it's what you're supposed to do. You spit blood onto the stained carpet and he holds a frozen bag of peas against his face and you both mumble how much you love each other. 

It's just who the two of you are. It's fucked up and weird but yeah it’s love. The southside way.

His cock brushes against yours torturously slow and you gasp and your head falls back against the flat pillow and he latches onto your neck again. He says your name so low that if he wasn't so close to your ear you'd barely hear it. You slide your hands up and down the soft skin on his warm back and he sighs against your jugular. This isn't even sexual now even though you are both so hard he could drill into your back if he had his dick up your ass right now. You kiss the side of his face where the bruise you left there days ago is finally starting to fade. You kiss it again; another silent apology and he shushes you right against your ear this time. 

He's inside you, and you don't mean physically. You're suffocating and you feel like you're burning, there's so much pain and pleasure and you try to gasp for breath and suddenly he pulls back and looks at you with those eyes. 

“Mick, what?”

“I…” You're drowning. Gasping. He...You...

“Mick, breathe. Come on, I think you're having a panic attack.” He tries to sit up but an embarrassing squeak escapes your throat and you grab at him, pulling him back down against you. You cling to him; your showing too much. Even after all these years, this is just too much emotion. Even through all the vows and grand gestures and prison time; this moment feels like you're about to literally shove your hand inside your own chest and rip out your heart to show him. To show him it's his. You're his. 

And he's yours. Really yours. 

He finally wrestles himself away from your grasp to sit up; his thighs on either side of your ankles. Space. He thinks you need space. Because that's what he needs when this happens to him. But it's not. It's making it harder for you to catch your breath with him that far from your fingertips. You need to say something. Love isn’t enough. 

"Mick, you need to calm down...you...why are you crying?"

Fuck, you are. You're crying like some bitch. And you hate thinking that. After all this time, all of yourself that you've shown him, you can still have these hateful thoughts. Thoughts that have been beaten into you, literally since you were 4 years old. Men don't cry. Men don't show weakness. Men don't love. And they especially don't love other men. 

But those thoughts aren't the cause of this onslaught of tears and panic. Those things haven't mattered in years. It’s just when he makes you slow down like this, it makes you think...remember...he could still leave you. Again. Doesn't matter how many times you tell him you love him. He knows that. He knew that all the times he's left. He knew it on the front porch of his house. And at a border while you wore a dress. Like some little bitch. He's known it all along. And he still left. So no, love isn’t enough. 

You have to say something. Otherwise Ian is going to think your losing your damn mind and continue to not touch you and if you felt like you couldn't breathe now, well…

"If you...left...me...I'd probably…" you squeeze your eyes shut. "...die."

His eyes widen, narrow and then soften all in a span of 30 seconds. "Who the fuck said I was leaving you?"

"Eventually," your voice hiccups and it makes you hate yourself. "You will."

He sighs and shifts his body upwards until he can lay his large hands on your bare chest. His fingers tap the permanent reminder that if you're any kind of bitch, it's his, on your skin. 

"Mick, seriously?"

You nod. You can't bring yourself to explain it. It's always lying under the surface of your skin. The fear. It comes out in punches and through curses and things you never really mean when you're yelling them. Because no matter how many times the word love has been said you both know vows can be broken no matter how much you don't want them to. 

"Marrying you wasn't enough? Still? Wasn't I supposed to be the one who thought they weren’t worthy of love?"

You half smile at that but quickly look away from him because he's right. The same shit you flipped on him for, you are now doing. God, you're such a little bitch. 

"You don't understand." 

"What's that mumbles?" He giggles finally closing the distance between your bodies and he buries his face against your neck. He starts back up with the soft touches again; fingertips ghosting over your ribcage. "Fuck your heart is beating so fast."

You swallow."Ian."

He moans; still after all this time hearing you say his name takes him to a whole other level. He licks a line from the curve where your shoulder meets your neck up to your ear lobe. You sigh softly. Fuck. 

"You’re…" fuck the words are gonna come out. You can't keep them on your tongue like you used to. A simple _'fuck you Gallagher'_ used to be enough. Then _'I love you's'_ came and now it's more, always more that you have to say to keep him. Fuck it. 

"You're everything to me, man."

You feel him smile against your cheek. "All worked up because of that? Fuck, Mick. I know."

"Is it enough?" You whisper. He stills his gentle touches. His breath comes out unsteady and stuttering. You can't look at him. Fuck, you want to. But you just can't. 

"You were always enough, Mick. It was me who wasn't. But I am now. I'm enough. For you."

You're both shaking now and you're kissing him before he even stops talking. You spread your legs slowly and he moans into your mouth at the invitation. Like he even needs one. 

It's like his cock is some kind of magnet because even with your bodies glued together with sweat and emotion, the tip finds your needy hole and he takes his time just barely slipping it in.

He's rocking his hips back and forth; his thick tip opening you up just to slide back out. It’s torture and intimate in ways you still aren’t used to. He never takes his mouth off yours; opening your mouth wide just like he's opening your ass. 

You're writhing underneath him and he's holding you down with his body. 

"Shhh, Mick. Just take it. Let me show you just how enough you are for me. More than enough." He literally growls as he impales you down to the base of his dick; his balls making a pornographic slapping sound against your ass. The scream you let escape is hoarse and he silences it with his lips and tongue. 

He licks into your whole mouth and you can barely breathe between the kisses and the way he has his entire body wrapped around yours. His cock throbs inside you and it's something you're not sure you’ll ever get used to feeling. Your hole tight around his bare cock. It's something fairly new, ever since you got married, and as slutty as it sounds you'd go through all the pain and suffering all over again just to know you'd feel him inside you with nothing between you anymore. 

He's still running his fingertips all along your skin painfully slow starting at your ear and working his way down. His other hand is digging into your hip as he fucks inside you causing just fading bruises to reappear. His abs are jerking your cock with every thrust and you can feel how wet you are on his hot skin. His hand makes its way back up to your cheek and his thumb brushes against your lower lip in such an intimate way your skin burns off your bones leaving you exposed and so needy under him. 

You moan and wrap your legs around his hips, heels digging into his tight back muscles. You suck his thumb between your lips and he inhales sharply, eyes darkening. No matter how soft the two of you can be, there's still something dark and animalistic between you two. It's what started it all and it's always there just under the surface, sometimes hidden by the everyday. 

He wants to be slow. He wants to make love; you knew it the second he shed his clothes and crawled beside you tonight and started with those damn fingers. He likes the control of all it all; helps him with everything else that feels so out of control; and you gladly give it up to him because he's had it since that hard poke of the tire iron woke you from your nap that day. It woke you up in so many different ways, it's hard to keep track now, but you'd give him anything and everything all over again a million times over. 

His fucks you slow but hard; each slide in deeper and harder than the last and it burns and aches and your stomach muscles tighten each time because it's too much, he's too much for you, in all the good ways that still make it absurd that you two are even still together. 

You want to believe he will love you forever, you know he will. But one day he will run again. When the voices get too loud and the world and this house seems too small. And you'll run after him, because let's face it, you're Ian Gallagher's bitch, and maybe you'll catch him again or maybe you won't. And then you'll wait, because it's what you do, and one day, or one year, he'll come back and still love you. That you know for sure. 

As he empties inside you and you feel the intensity of what it means washing you inside, you realize it doesn't matter if he leaves again. Cause the two of you are just too tired, too damaged, too scared, too scarred, too stubborn, too smart, too twisted, too much for the world outside these four walls not to be together. 

And yeah, that's enough.

_Cause you're all I want, you're all I need  
You're everything, everything_


End file.
